The Last of the First
by Lostwisher
Summary: There has always been something supernatural about Vulpix and Ninetales. Well, what if I told you that they have their own strange history to them? And what if I told you of the one that walks among the living, cursed with a terrible brand of immortality?


Click… click… click. A single, solitary sound filled the empty void, breaking decades of silence, were anyone actually around to hear it. It was all the idleness of teeth, clenching together, barely visible in the utter black, pitch well beyond what any night had ever wrought. There was no light in the space, but simply a face. Visible without refraction or reflection. Plain as could be, floating in the dark. Two eyes, pupiless and without color, darted around the nothing, as if checking their nonexistent surroundings. That in mind, this was not new, as it had always been, and always will be. Time and space; none of it had power here. It was just the emptiness, and the face. The face of the deity, for which there were many names, and yet also none.

Perhaps deity wasn't the best word. Construct, maybe? Idea? Formless, yet entirely visible to all the eyes that weren't there to witness it. And yet, even here, in the nothing. In the blankness that enshrouded it, it saw all. It knew all. And it had been privy to all.

And yet all of it felt so mundane. So tiresome, even for a… thing that felt no fatigue.

Perhaps I should give it a name before I explain further. One tribe called it Vus. The second, Nisang. And the the third, Koloha. All fitting names in their various tongues. But for the sake of our story, we will stick with Nisang.

With white eyes, it watched its playground. Life moving as it always had for hundreds of eons, thriving more than it ever had. To Nisang, this was beauty. It was something to be savored, to be treasured, and to be protected. Yet, it was also something to be disrupted. To be tested. Not destroyed, no. Beauty was far too precious a mistress to ever be destroyed. But it could stand to have some character. To not sit so idly by, minding its own business. Beauty, after all, could only achieve true perfection when accompanied by excitement. In Nisang's mind- or, consciousness rather.

And so, it devised a plan. It wished to add to that beauty, and to add to that disruption. It was no god, so it could not create life. But to chaos. To Nisang there were always other means of achieving a goal. And so it set about, gathering the earth in the palms of its void. The sediments, the sand, the dirt all clenched tightly in its shadowy fingers. Nisang used all the basis of life itself. The ground, the sea, even the sky. Everything that sustained the living, would come together to help it create. And such, was born a model. A gorgeous model, perfectly symmetrical, topped with three heads that snaked through the void, eyes ever watching, blank as they were. Its clay exterior, the flowers that covered it, the markings and symbols Nisang meticulously crafted into it. All of it was a sight to behold.

And yet, such is the nature of chaos. To ensure that nothing remained as it always was, except chaos itself. And so, Nisang set about torturing its creation. Disfiguring it. Insulting it. Willing it into sentience through pure hatred and malice alone. For another eon, it did not move, but its creator was patient.

Always had been.

Until finally, it was rewarded with a shriek. A cry so shrill, were it not trapped in this intangible space, separated from existence, it would have pierced the heavens and the earth, deafening all who heard it. But alas, it was only for Nisang to witness, and all it did was smile. Grin so widely as its creation screamed for days, until it collapsed. Unable to scream anymore, unable to handle its own cursed existence, it shriveled away, save for its three, horribly misshapen heads. And thus it was done.

But no, there was more. More that would come in the figure's stead. From the openings of the decapitated heads crawled three creatures, absolutely identical in appearance to one another. Three living, breathing, and breathtakingly gorgeous creatures.

Foxes, to be exact. Their fur shimmered with gold, from tuft-topped head, to the ends of each one of their nine, flowing tails. They stood with poise, manifestations of a chaos, yet they were unlike anything the world had ever seen before. Unparalleled in appearance. Nisang new, they would bring beauty merely with their presence. And so it gave them names. From the first head was the lone female, Yumei, to which it acknowledged with only a grin. From the second head came the first male, Mikazu, the first to receive a true welcoming, from Chaos's own tongue. And then the third.

The third, which displayed no emotion. No elation at its own birth. No thought as to its own perception. The third, Nisang called Almuro, and for the first time ever, Chaos was puzzled. Nevertheless, it was quick to give them purpose. Setting them out across the world. To show all of life what it had created. To show mortals and gods alike, something so rich with beauty, such a feat could never be surpassed. And to ensure such a thing was never forgotten, Nisang gave all three of its creations one thousand years with which to exist. With which to roam their respective homes. None of which were its right to give, but it did so anyway. Chaos answered to nothing, with or without form, after all.

Yumei, for an appearance so brilliant, she outshined her brethren, she was set atop the highest peak Nisang could find, so that all beneath her could look up, and witness her beauty. Mount Lanakila would be her home from now, until the day she passed.

Mikazu, for a fiery spirit that burned with passion, displaying more life than any of his siblings, was set atop the Silver mountain in Johto, a lesser peak, from which he was free to descend, and explore to his heart's every content, until the day he passed.

Almuro, for obedience, and loyalty to his creator. Well, he was a disappointment, in some regard, for he displayed the least amount life. Such a minimal existence. He was set atop the smallest mountain, Pyre in the Hoenn region. A place commonly associated with both life and death. Perhaps he needed to experience both to gain his own personality. But for now, Nisang only wanted him safe.

This was their gift. For three hundred years they lived atop their thrones, whether it be the highest of peaks, or across the whole of the Earth. Yet it was utter isolation. Utter loneliness. No amount of allure could change that. And so, for the next hundred years, Nisang set about with one more creation. It seemed, even a shadow could feel sympathy toward its creations.

Or perhaps, this was another test. And so, it gave life to three supplementary beings. The same as before. Counterparts to his eldest three. One male, and two females, each given as a gift, to reside and live together in peace and harmony for the remainder of their days. And yet, as if wishing to see some cruel irony set forth, it commanded of them to never procreate. To never have children with one another. To never love one another, or they would be stripped of their beauty.

Of course, this was a trick. Such was the nature of Chaos. Such was the nature of Nisang. It only wanted to test the agency within them. The free will it wished to see them exude. And much to its dismay. One did indeed fail.

Yumei and her mate bore several children from atop their mountain, living life together for hundreds of years, their offspring forming a tightly-knit society until they passed. The environment changed them. They were foxes of fire, yet they lived amongst the snow all their lives. Over dozens of generations they became one with the snow. In time, they descended from the mountain, but not too far. Populating the chilliest areas of the island, changing in appearance. While reclusive as they were, they were not shy. Like a great family they did and still to this day, work in tandem. As if one massive family spread out across the tiny land they were given. And still, they were beautiful.

Mikazu and his mate lived happily together as well. They were, in fact, the first to disobey Nisang. Knowing full well the ways of mortals, they were eager to procreate. Eager to populate the land that Mikazu had grown so fond of now. Both Johto and Kanto were his, and soon they would belong to all his lineage. With rapid abundance they spread, albeit quite thin over time, forming small communities all across the two regions. They seamlessly integrated themselves into the increasingly modern world. Social, happy, and easy to find. Most of the world's Vulpix and Ninetales descend from this line.

But then, there was Almuro. As I said, one did fail. And that reclusiveness. Cut-off from civilization, isolated atop a haunting and mysterious mountain. Even with his counterpart, he remained steadfast. He would not contradict. He would not defy his creator. For he did not know the way of the mortals. He did not know good from evil. Until his one thousandth year arrived, and Nisang paid him a visit. Its demeanor was one of fury, of disappointment and disgust. It detested its failed creation. It told Almuro how it had failed. How it had displayed an unwillingness to live. To evolve. To betray. Betrayal was something so natural to all living things, and that was its test. It had failed. Pleading for forgiveness, Almuro made haste to fix his wrongdoing. He and his counterpart had a fair few offspring together over the following years, but it was too late.

On his deathbed, he was visited by the entity of chaos. His creator. One last time. And it cursed him. He would retain his immortality. But every thousand years he was to start over. To lose everything he had accrued over the previous thousand. Every memory, every relationship, every imprint he had made was to be erased from his own consciousness. And he would never see the faces of his lineage. They would be invisible to him, and he to them.

This was his curse.

One he would bear for several eternities. And as he passed, he wept. He wept and wept until his body had ceased altogether. His body turned to ash, collapsing on the spot, and was spread from the mountain by an ominous wind, to wherever it may reform, and begin again.

These are his many stories.


End file.
